


The Alphabet Affair - G

by spikesgirl58



Series: The Alphabet Affair [7]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 17:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7371385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Beta Challenge.  Napoleon needs to make peace with Illya if they are going to work together.  It would seem the Fates are against him.</p><p>Prompt:  Guard and Grudge</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Alphabet Affair - G

Illya closed the lid of his suitcase and stifled a groan. It was bad enough he was having to climb on a plane and head for California, but to do it sitting beside a quite probably still upset partner was not high on Illya’s hit parade. Say what you will about Napoleon, the man knew how to hold a grudge and he usually got his pound of flesh in the worst way possible. This was not bad when it was THRUSH on the receiving end; it was not a good when it was Illya.

There was a noise from the living room and Illya considered that situation as well. He hated leaving anyone in his apartment, although he knew Grigory wouldn’t do anything more than wake and stumble home. Illya could always ask for someone to reset his alarm remotely. It just rankled him that the man had managed to destroy a perfect good evening. 

Illya carried the case to the entry hall and looked back to where Grigory sprawled, apparently boneless, on the couch, the empty bottle of vodka nearby. He wished his friend would drink less and concentrate more upon his financial situation, but Grigory seemed disinclined to worry about such things. He always seemed to have enough money, although how he got it was a mystery. He never volunteered and Illya never asked.

Illya hastily scribbled out a note and left it where he was sure Grigory would find it. His communicator beeped and he answered it, keeping his voice even.

“Kuryakin.”

“Hamilton, sir. I’m here to take you to the airport.”

“Thank you. I will be right down.”

As Illya stepped from his apartment building, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he was instantly on guard. He shifted his suitcase to his left hand and let his right drift closer to his weapon. A hasty look around revealed no easily identified threats, just Hamilton lounging against the fender of a motor pool sedan.

“I must be working too hard.” He glanced back up at his window and frowned at the movement of the curtain before mentally chiding himself. That window always leaked air ever since he’d lived there.

“To the airport?” Hamilton asked as he opened the door.

“Please.” Illya put his suitcase in the trunk and climbed into the back seat. 

The trip to the airport was uneventful. Illya watched the buildings rush by. At this time of the night, there wasn’t much traffic, well, much by New York standards, and Hamilton handled it like a pro. It gave Illya time to think.

What had set Napoleon off? Napoleon never seemed the least bit interested in Illya’s friends before. What was it about Grigory that made… then Illya remembered the circumstances. Surely Napoleon couldn’t have been angry that there was someone spending the night on his couch... It made no sense at all. 

Whatever it was, it was going to make for a very uncomfortable trip until they’d gotten it hammered out. Illya hoped Napoleon was as fast with a hammer as he was with other things. There were times when slow was better.

Illya’s eyes started to drift shut. They’d gotten so comfortable at Napoleon’s apartment. It would have taken nothing to just reach out and kiss Napoleon… One kiss and it would have led to another and then he’d feel Napoleon’s…

“Here we are!” 

It took all of Illya’s training not to jump at the sound of his driver’s voice. Thankfully, Hamilton didn’t seem to have noticed and he quickly parked the car and went around to the trunk. That gave Illya a moment to rearrange himself and talk harshly to the more imaginative bits of his anatomy. What was he even playing at? Napoleon wasn’t interested. Napoleon only had eyes for women. 

He walked into the airport and over to the ticketing agent. Napoleon was already there and seemed to be in some debate with the woman. 

Probably setting up a date for when he returns, Illya thought as he carried his suitcase up and placed it behind Napoleon’s.

“I don’t believe this.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but you are booking very late. It’s the only option we have.”

“What’s wrong?” Napoleon looked over his shoulder at Illya. 

“We got the last two seats on the plane.”

“And the problem?”

“One is in first class and one isn’t.” Napoleon pushed a ticket towards him. “You’re in first class.”

“I will change with you. I intend to sleep most of the way anyhow.” There was a little party in Illya’s head, but he never let it reach his eyes. 

“They are non-transferable, sir.”

“Oh.” He pushed his suitcase close as Napoleon’s was taken and tagged. “Then that is that.”

Napoleon did not look happy and Illya waited until they were clear of security to pull the ticket from his pocket. “Here, Napoleon, take my ticket. Once we are on board, it doesn’t much matter who sits where.”

“It’s not that. I was hoping to…” Napoleon looked off in the distance as a plane landed. “We need to talk.”

“Agreed.”

“I mean, we need to… oh, you agree?”

“Yes, but apparently it is going to wait until we land in San Francisco.” They approached the gate and looked around, always on guard, always cautious. It was how UNCLE agents lived to play another day. “For what it was worth, Napoleon, my friend Grigory had had a bit too much to drink and I was helping him get undressed. He was dead to the world when I left my apartment.”

“Oh, that’s…” There was a twinkle that suddenly appeared in Napoleon’s eye. “That’s terrible. Your poor friend.”

“Yes, my poor friend…” Illya wasn’t buying it for a minute. Napoleon was scheming. Illya could tell he was up to something, but what was the mystery.

They boarded and Illya paused by his seat as Napoleon pushed past. Three seats away, a young baby let the world know just how unhappy he was. Illya squinted as the child’s wail rose in decibels. 

Napoleon winced and clapped Illya on the shoulder, squeezing it encouragingly, a touch that was more caress than anything else. “Well, I guess that I will see you in San Francisco then. Pleasant dreams.” He winked and he was gone.

Illya sunk into the seat. The sensation of Napoleon’s hand on his shoulder lingered and then he winced as the baby kicked it up another notch. It was going to be a very long flight.


End file.
